


A Room in Luxembourg

by signifying_nothing



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: (not sure that really applies but just in case), Acid Burns, Disabled Character, Gen, M/M, Post War, Scalping, coming home, introspective duo, soft, wound mentions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-05 06:40:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12788985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/signifying_nothing/pseuds/signifying_nothing
Summary: Let it never be said that Duo Maxwell did not understand tragedy.His entire fucking life had been a tragedy, thank you very much: could have been written by the Willy Shakes himself. Boy is an orphan, boy is taken in by a church, boy is brought back to the church several times, boy tries to save church only to have church blown up by The Man, boy becomes vigilante God of Death, et fin.





	A Room in Luxembourg

**Author's Note:**

> i wanted an excuse to write something that could allow me to set up a series of soft ot5 nonsense, that's all.

Let it never be said that Duo Maxwell did not understand _tragedy._

His entire fucking life had been a tragedy, thank you very much: could have been written by _the_ Willy Shakes himself. Boy is an orphan, boy is taken in by a church, boy is brought _back_ to the church several times, boy tries to save church only to have church blown up by The Man, boy becomes vigilante God of Death, et fin.

Duo tried not to think too much about it these days.

After a refusing an invitation to join the Preventers on a full-time basis—he was, by all technicalities, an independent contractor—he'd done his best to make sure he didn't end up the way most of the tragedies like his own ended. No, Duo Maxwell was a stubborn, spiteful son of a bitch and he was going to _survive_ this horrific peace that had been forced onto him. Not that he didn't want it, fuck. He did. He just didn't think anyone else was going to let it last long enough to be appreciated.

Much to his surprise, it did.

His... He couldn't really call them his _friends,_ they weren't really friends. They were his blood brothers, born in battle and forged by the fire of war, bonds that could not be broken no matter their distance. They were more important than friends, even if Duo didn't know how to talk to them. Anyway they were doing their damnedest to maintain the very fragile peace that encased earth and space. He got updates from Quatre once every few months or so, to let him know that the others were still alive and kicking. Duo hadn't really realized how much he appreciated those short e-mails until he didn't get one for nearly four months. He'd been ready to fly back to earth on the first shuttle he could grab when he finally _got_ the e-mail, and his sigh of relief had been stolen right out of his mouth to find out that Trowa had not only been attacked on his way to Preventer Headquarters, but been assaulted with what amounted to a water gun shaped like an assault rifle, pumped full of acid. He had, apparently, been in the ICU for _weeks._ Of course Quatre had been too busy to send the e-mails he was normally so fastidious about.

It had been nearly four years since he'd seen any of them in person—instead of deepnews flashes from the darkest corners of the net or e-mails from Quatre—but Duo gathered up a duffle and hoofed his ass to the shuttleport, getting on the first available direct line to London and then New Madrid, Spain, where Quatre and Trowa were staying for the time being—somewhere outside the city. His bag was a heavy weight. An evac kit, really, more than anything else—always ready to be taken up so it's owner could run. Duo kept one by the door, had for all the years he'd lived in his little apartment. His gun was buried into the bag—it was a beautiful piece of work, made out of an alloy and transparent aluminum that used bullets made of that same material. He didn't think he'd need it, but better safe than sorry and there was no way it could be checked by any metal detectors or sensor systems save those at the Luxembourg stronghold itself.

He landed in New Madrid, rented a truck under a false name for too much money, and drove out to the address Quatre had provided him with. His Spanish hadn't rusted too badly—he could figure out where he was going.

The house had been a monastery at some point, Duo could tell that immediately. Despite all evidence to the contrary he was actually very interested in art and architecture—a carry-over from growing up in a church and knowing his _buddy_ in and out so thoroughly, being in love with lines and angles and silhouettes. He paid attention to the stone arches, to the tall and windowed steeple, to the french-style doors that led out to a huge back garden, where Quatre was sitting with a tall man in a wheelchair. That was the direction Duo headed for, rather than the door. He made sure to make enough noise for it to be known he wasn't trying to sneak up on them as he went through the arch in the hedges—fancy schmancy shit, right there—and was immediately greeted by Quatre's gun, pointed at his shoulder rather than his head.

“Chill out, man,” he said, looking down at the barrel before looking at Quatre and giving him a winning smile. “Whatcha pointin' that at me for, I ain't done nothin'.”

“Duo,” Quatre breathed it out and Duo found himself enveloped in a hug. He returned it, because what else could he do? Quatre looked underweight and under-slept—the gun had been trembling ever-so-slightly in his fingers, and his arms felt weaker than Duo remembered. But it had been four years since they'd seen one another in person.

“Hey,” he said, rubbing his hands up and down Quatre's back. He was wearing just a simple t-shirt and jeans, which looked out of place on him. They broke apart after a moment and Quatre was grinning, happy as he pulled Duo into the garden.

The garden was beautiful, more lush than anything Duo had seen in years. Rows of succulents and fruit trees, a little patch of strawberries carefully confined to it's little section of earth. Large stones sitting about like a zen garden, and a small stream that led down the far side, protected by a thick rush of weeds. Duo followed Quatre over to the large Jacaranda tree, where the man in the wheelchair was using one hand to turn it around.

It wasn't as bad as Duo had feared it.

Not on Trowa's face, anyway. Quatre's e-mail had said he'd managed to throw up his arm and leap away, but the damage ran up and down his right side and across his back. Funnily enough, an ordinary citizen had been the one to save him—a young woman leaping onto his attacker's back and wrapping her arm around his neck in a chokehold until he passed out. She'd stayed there while another stranger called an ambulance and tried to keep Trowa from any more injury to himself. Still, his mobility had been compromised rather badly, and it had taken quite a few surgeries to insure that he'd be able to walk and move properly again. Trowa's worst nightmare had come true, or so Quatre had explained to Duo in his e-mail—Trowa could no longer be out in the field with either Heero or Wufei, was now permanently confined behind a desk.

“Duo,” he said, as he faced him, his elegant face perfectly intact, save for some splash damage to his ear. His hair was still ginger brown, shoved off to one side so both green eyes were showing. Duo offered a smile.

“How ya doin', handsome? Why you always gotta be gettin' yourself in trouble, huh? Givin' Misters Yuy n'Chang a run for their money? I thought _they_ were the reckless ones, here.”

“Mm,” Trowa smiled, vaguely—but he only ever smiled vaguely. It was a triumph in Duo's book. He walked closer and stood beside the chair, bringing Trowa's head to his belly, embracing him very carefully. Trowa gave a small sigh of relief and Duo felt better about the situation. He'd always been entirely too touchy for the rest of them—that last night aboard Peacemillion had been more about his own comfort than anything else. He'd gone to each of them in turn, tugged what physical touch from them he could, and held on to it like a lifeline through the last battle. The long hug he'd shared with Trowa on the observation deck, silent and warm, had been precious to him. As had been his hand slipped into Quatre's as they kissed in his room, slow and deep and wet. Even the handshake shared with Heero—each of them holding one another's forearms in a traditional warrior's greeting for a long, long moment. Even the brief brush with Wufei, whom Duo had pressed to the wall in the low-g hangar and kissed stupid for as long as he could get away with before propelling himself away. Those touches had been what got him through the battle, what gave him hope.

It was good, to be able to share them again. Like coming back around to a place he hadn't known he'd been missing. Trowa's cheek was warm through his t-shirt, and he carded his fingers through the soft hair in a motion he found to be intrinsically comforting, whether he was performing it or receiving it.

“Heero should be here soon,” Quatre said, quietly. Duo looked over at him in surprise, where his hand was still running back and forth through Trowa's hair like he was some kind of cat instead of a man. “He and Wufei were on a mission when Trowa was released... Wufei apparently has another immediately after, but Heero should be here.”

“Really,” Duo said, huffing thoughtfully. “I ain't seen him in _ages._ Is 'Fei comin' when he's done?”

“Maybe,” Quatre shrugged, though it looked a little pained. “He's... You know how he is, sometimes.”

Aah, yes, Duo did know. Stubborn, self-isolated, cold and contained save for when his _explosive_ temper had a fit for itself and any of them were foolish enough to be standing in the blast radius. Fuckin' _repressed,_ which was sad as shit—Duo had realized _that_ when he'd pushed Wufei against the side of the hangar, slid a hand up to cup the back of his head and kiss him, sweet and slow. It had been... Well, for a fifteen year old it had been downright sensual, really, which made Wufei's repression even _sadder._ Heero had been raised as a weapon, and Trowa had been raised as a merc, but Wufei—Duo had read the files on him, after the war. Wufei hadn't been born that way. He'd forced himself to be that way. That was far more wretched than anything Duo could think of, really.

He also knew from the reports through deepnews that Wufei had been the one of them to have the hardest time adjusting to peace time. Heero was still a weapon, but a weapon for a different cause. Trowa, the same. Quatre had gone back to L4 to act as the head of his father's company and a colony politico, but Wufei had been erratic after the war, effectively AWOL for six months until he'd been found on an ancient, abandoned refinery colony. Heero hadn't put the specifics in the report Quatre had sent to Duo, but what Duo had gotten out of it was that Heero had gone to the colony, found Wufei, beat some sense into his ass and dragged him back to the Preventers by the scruff of the neck like a screaming kitten. Now, Chang was one of the three... Two. Best agents in the force, and the only agent who could keep up with Heero Yuy on his best days.

To his surprise, Duo was kind of looking forward to seeing them again.

“Come on,” Trowa said, his voice mellow. “Lets go inside.” He started to turn the chair, but Duo took the handles and tipped it back, reclining his tall companion and grinning.

“Allow me,” he said, pushing the chair on two wheels into the house, which was big, open and airy. It was a nice place, felt nice, calm and peaceful and still. Duo wondered how he was supposed to sleep here, away from the noise and the neon and the pressing comfort of the vacuum all around.

><><><><

Heero arrived two days later, while Duo was marveling at how he could simply _pluck_ an orange off a tree in the garden. He could just _take it off the tree_ and make food with it, put it straight into his mouth. Fucking incredible. Sometimes he couldn't understand why humans had gone into space in the first place. Why would they, when there was so much for them here?

Heero, like Duo, came in through the garden, and had stood still for a moment, just looking Duo over. It made him a bit self-conscious. He was short and skinny, with weird teeth—born in space on a colony without the money for genetic scanning—but he was still five foot eight, not too shabby. Heero, on the other hand, was _somehow_ pushing six feet despite how narrow he was, and Duo smiled as he walked over, offering out his forearms.

“It's good to see you again, Maxwell,” he said, and Duo reached out to return the clasp, smiling handsomely.

“You too, buddy,” he replied. “How you been?”

“Acceptable,” Heero said, his blue eyes sharp. “And yourself?”

“Peachy,” Duo nodded sagely. “Just peachy. Me'n Quatre are makin' lunch. You hungry?”

“Yes.”

Duo led Heero inside, with the announcement of, _Wings himself just got here!_ as he walked into the kitchen. Quatre smiled delightedly—gave Heero a firm and lasting handshake. Heero got down onto one knee to do the same with Trowa, to whom he spoke very quietly and very seriously for a moment before he stood again. Trowa looked displeased, but wiped the expression off his face as quickly as he could. Duo caught it, and frowned, but said nothing. They'd talk about it later, when they were alone.

Duo had spent the night with Trowa, to give Quatre a break. The wounds across his body were barely seeping now, and the bandages hadn't smelled of infection when he changed them. Still, it had been it's own kind of agony to see Trowa gritting his teeth and pressing his face into the mattress as he tried not to squirm or pull away. He'd been crying when Duo finished: silent and close-mouthed into Duo's neck as Duo rubbed at his scalp and let him have what physical comfort he could offer. It had been real rough to see him in such a state. He'd never thought Trowa would be the first to get hurt so badly. By someone who was just out to get Preventer blood, not even after him for being a pilot—that made it even worse.

“How'd it go?” Quatre was asking, and Heero shrugged where he stood at the sink, washing his hands before taking the knife and the steak he was to cut into strips, moving easily around the kitchen.

“Acceptable,” he said, before frowning briefly. “Chang sustained an injury, though it wasn't terrible. He followed through on his next objective.”

“What kind of injury,” Quatre asked with a frown on his handsome face. To Duo, Heero looked as though he was trying to choose his words _very_ carefully.

“It seems as though...” he started with a sigh. “He managed to get his scalp... Cut.”

“Cut,” Quatre said, his voice dead and dull. Duo winced.

“Yes,” Heero replied.

“Did he have a concussion?”

“Sally would not have allowed him to continue on his next objective if he had.”

“Did he _see_ Sally before he left on his next objective?”

“He said he had,” Heero said, his frown turning into a scowl. “Though I don't think the blow to the head was that severe. There was a lot of blood, but Chang was functioning as normal when I saw him last.”

“I'm going to beat him with his own scabbard,” Quatre grumbled, turning back to his task.

“Is he coming here?” Duo asked. “When he's done?”

“He's meant to,” Heero nodded. “I told him Barton and Winner wanted his company upon his return.”

“I'm sure that went up like a lead balloon,” Duo replied. Heero tipped his head to one side.

“He seemed intent on being here. I don't think he wouldn't come.”

“Man, that means all of us will be in one place,” Duo said. “And none of us brought a gundam, that's a first. There's no havoc to wreak or anything.”

His cheery commentary broke the tension, as it was meant to. Duo heaved a small sigh of relief.

><><><><

It took another three days for Wufei to arrive and by then, Duo was nearly squirming with the need to get back to space. It wasn't that he didn't like Earth, it was just... Not his place, and it made him uncomfortable. He spotted the SUV pulling in and watched as a man got out, short and skinny as he was, with dark hair that hung to his shoulders and...

A bandage wrapped around his neck and forehead, presumably to cover the fucking chunk that had been cleaved out of his scalp. _Got his scalp cut my lily white spacer ass._ Duo was going to kill Heero. Actually, _Quatre_ was going to kill Heero. Duo was going to kill Wufei.

He knew the other man was reckless, he knew he was gunning for an early death in battle, or whatever, but as he walked up the path Duo could see that his balance was disrupted, could see that he wasn't as stable as he should be on solid ground. Maybe no one other than the four of them would be able to see it.

He swung the door open as Wufei moved to knock, grinning as widely as he could manage and enjoying the look of stunned surprise he got for his action. Wufei's eyes were as beautiful as Duo remembered, his lips dustpink and opened in a small sound of startlement. It was the most off-guard Duo had ever seen him and it was, in all honesty, a bit enchanting.

“Wufei!” he chirped, tugging the man in by the wrist, taking in how he stumbled and reached to brace himself on the wall. _No concussion my_ _ **lily white spacer ass**_ _,_ Duo thought sourly, as he pulled Wufei into the sitting room, where the other three were engaged in individual activities. “Look what the God of Death dragged in!” He shoved Wufei forward, his eyes narrowing as the man cussed in Mandarin and jerked out an arm to make sure he didn't fall.

“Wufei,” Quatre said, his eyes widening with alarm. “What happened?”

“Chang,” Heero said almost immediately after.

“It's fine,” Wufei said, shaking his head as though to clear it. “It's fine. The bones in my ear have been... Disrupted. I've been assured they will heal in a few days, once the swelling goes down.”

“But your head?” Quatre replied.

“My own foolishness,” Wufei replied, sitting down in a chair a safe distance away from the others, his duffle dropped into his lap. “It doesn't matter. How are you, Barton,” he turned his attention to the other man, his eyes warm with concern. “How are you feeling.”

“Better than you look,” Trowa replied, his features an icy scowl. Wufei rolled his eyes.

“You're all worrying like old women. I'm fine.”

“You're concussed,” Duo said, crossing his arms. “You drove here on your own with a _concussion,_ you fucking moron. Man, it's good to know you're just as stupid as you were last time I saw you.”

Last time Duo saw Wufei, the boy—because he had been a boy, then—had been wound up so tight he could have been made of metal and twisted into a gundanium bolt. That had, apparently, not changed much.

Wufei's eyes were dark and angry, but Duo just cocked an eyebrow and waited for an argument that never came. Wufei just leaned back into the chair he'd sat in and sighed. “I don't need to be lectured,” he assured, tipping his head to look at them all, one after the other. “I've had rather enough of that for the day.”

“Let me show you to your room,” Quatre said, getting up and motioning for Wufei to follow. He did, the two of them disappearing into the upstairs while Duo hissed in a breath and glared at Heero.

“ _Sustained a head wound?_ Jesus, Heero, the man got _scalped._ ”

“The top half of his ear has been cut off, as well,” Heero said, sighing heavily. “He asked me not to worry you all with it, since the injuries weren't serious.”

“How did that even _happen?_ ”

“Indeed,” Trowa said, looking at Heero with his level gaze.

“Chang was... He'd been compromised,” Heero said, crossing his arms. “They had him by the hair, probably intended to cleave his skull in half. He moved in time, they... Improvised their blow.” A shrug. “I suspect the blow to the head happened on his more recent objective. He was not concussed when he left headquarters. I'd have made him stay if I thought he had been.”

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” Duo ran a hand over his face. “I thought we were done getting the shit kicked out of us, man.”

“Peace has a cost, Duo,” Trowa said, and Duo fought back the urge to snarl.

“And we're all still fuckin' paying it,” he said, raking his fingers through his hair. “Why's it always gotta be us, huh? Can't some other fuckers take responsibility for once, so I don't have to worry my ass that you sorry fucks are gonna end up in a morgue somewhere and I'm gonna get called to identify your body?”

“Don't be unreasonable, Duo,” Heero said. “Some sacrifices have to be made for peace to be maintained.”

“Yeah, well I'm sick'a that cost bein' the safety of my only fucking friends in this miserable universe,” Duo snapped, pushing away from the wall he'd been leaning into. “I'm gonna check on 'Fei.”

He fought the urge to stomp up the stairs, instead following the sound of Quatre's voice as he spoke to Wufei in Mandarin.

“— _but it's not infected, thank god._ ”

“ _Of course it's not, Winner, I'm not that irresponsible._ ”Wufei's voice was a light chuckle, and Quatre seemed to be laughing with him.

“ _You say that, but I've seen your reports. You can't fool me, pilot. Or the rest of us._ ”

“ _I know_.” There was the sound of a sigh. “ _Come in, Maxwell. I can hear you breathing._ ”

“Don't know how you can do that,” Duo said, his voice biting. “What with your ear half blown off and everything.” He stepped into the room and took a look at the side of Wufei's head. The skin was raw, red and inflamed, but not infected. The left side of his scalp—from just above the temple down to the hairline at his neck—was hairless, torn off in a horrid, violent motion. The bandages ended halfway down his neck, and Duo could see that the bottom half of Wufei's ear had been, for all intents and purposes, stitched back onto his head where it had probably been hanging by the lobe.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed, and Wufei offered him a sharp, exhausted smile.

“It's not as bad as it looks, Maxwell.”

“It looks _real fuckin' bad,_ ” Duo replied, stepping into the room. “Did they graft it?”

“As much as possible on such short notice. I have another appointment with Sally in a few days time,” Wufei replied, sighing. “I'll never grow hair there again, which is a pity.”

“I rather liked your hair,” Quatre agreed, reaching up to cup the unharmed side of Wufei's head. Duo watched in fascination as Wufei tipped into the touch, clearly too tired to care that Duo was watching such intimacy—and it _was_ intimacy, for people like them. Touches like that were basically the equivalent of a long makeout session, which was why Duo hadn't ever really been able to find anyone to be with when the war ended. How could he possibly hope to make people understand?

“Shit, 'Fei,” Duo breathed, so flooded with relief it nearly made his knees buckle. He'd been so anxious, reading the reports, knowing that Trowa was constantly at risk, knowing that Wufei was the one to throw himself into danger, knowing he was less cautious than even _Heero_ was, and Heero gave Duo a heart attack with every e-mail, it seemed. But it looked like he'd been worried for nothing, though...

Though something in him stung a little. The four of them seemed so close now. And he was... He was outside, he was not part of them. But he was. By the blood of the people they'd killed, by being pressed back to back in a corner with them he was a part of them. He'd chosen to leave Earth, but he was still a part of them.

“I'll go check on Heero and Trowa,” Quatre said, getting up and smiling at Duo. He kissed his cheek on the way by, gentle but firm. “Go on.”

Duo walked into the room, felt Wufei watching him. He sat down and took a breath—looked up to see Wufei giving him a considering look.

“What,” he asked.

“You've gotten taller,” Wufei said, his lips turned up into a small smile. “And your hair is longer.”

“Surprising literally everyone,” Duo mumbled, scratching at his head through his bangs. “Thought I topped off at five five. Most spacers do.”

“I know I did,” Wufei said, leaning into the chair and looking over at Duo as though weighing the worth of his soul. “Maxwell,” he started, before halting. “Duo.”

“What,” he said, looking over at his ally.

“It's good to see you again.”

Wufei was offering out his hand. Duo took a breath and reached out to hold it, tangling their fingers together. Then he brought them up to kiss Wufei's bruised, golden knuckles. The intimacy of the act left the two of them breathless and staring at one another across the short space between them.

“I'm glad you're okay,” Duo replied, “You know that's all that matters, right? That you're okay. Even if you look like some kind of hipster now with your... Half scalped head.”

“I know,” Wufei nodded, ignoring the remark as he brought their hands to his own mouth, pressing a soft, soft kiss to the back of Duo's hand. He breathed over the skin, warm and damp, and kissed again. “I know that.”

“'Fei,” Duo whispered, and reached to tuck back the remaining fall of Wufei's soft hair. “It's so good to see you.” Wufei offered Duo a smile he never would have given him during the war. It was warm and secret and almost playful, mischievous in it's intentions.

“Come on, lets go back downstairs before Heero has a coronary,” Wufei said, sounding grudgingly amused. Duo took up the bandages, looked at Wufei curiously.

“He worries like an old grandmother,” Wufei replied, in answer to the silent question. “Needs to be assured constantly. Did... Did someone tell you that we live together, now?”

“No,” Duo replied, carefully bandaging the side of Wufei's head.

“We live together now. Barton and Quatre have a space in the house for when they're in Luxembourg. You...” Wufei trailed off, hesitating. “There's a place for you too, Maxwell.”

“What?”

“We have a place for you, too,” he repeated himself. “If... You feel like visiting.”

“You're serious.”

“Have you ever known me to be anything but serious?”

There was a moment of silence, and Duo smiled, ducked his head as he helped Wufei up out of the chair, holding him by the forearms. Wufei pressed their foreheads together, the bridges of their noses crossed. Duo could feel him breathing, could taste the cinnamon on his breath. “I didn't know,” Duo whispered. “Didn't think you wanted me there.”

“You will always have a place with us, Maxwell,” Wufei said. “Wherever we are. You should know that by now. But...” he hesitated. “Quatre thought it unwise to ask you to come. You shouldn't come because you feel obligated.”

“I ain't obligated to shit,” Duo chirped, rather tartly.

“I'm aware,” Wufei replied with a tired chuckle.

“You've loosened up since the last time I saw you,” Duo said. Wufei leaned back and gave him a considering look. “Well, you have.”

“I've learned a lot since then, Duo,” he said. “About... About myself, and the world. And my place in it. We all have. Except perhaps Quatre.” Wufei wrinkled his nose and Duo nearly choked. It was such a _childish_ thing, so out of place on features he could only ever remember seeing as serious, somber, or furious. “It was his idea in the first place. That we... Needed each other.”

“Cos no one else does it for us, right,” Duo said, as Wufei stood and the two of them walked downstairs. Wufei seemed nonplussed to see Heero and Quatre working in the kitchen, sharing occasional kisses to cheeks, or standing close together.

“Right,” Wufei replied, walking over to and kneeling in front of Trowa, who leveled him with a glare. Wufei looked acceptably chastised, and Duo watched the proceedings with interest.

“You're stupid. You know that, don't you.”

“I do.”

“You damn near gave me a heart attack.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't _do that_ to me, Wufei,” Trowa's gentle accent choked a little, and his good hand reached out to cup Wufei's face, to hold his jaw as though to assure himself that the young man was still there. “Don't do that to _us._ ”

“I'll try my level best,” Wufei promised, sitting up on his knees and holding the arms of the wheelchair as Trowa dragged him up for a kiss that had nothing to do with sensuality or lust, and everything to do with the urgent need to know that both parties were still there, still alive, still safe. Duo smiled a little and walked into the kitchen to give the two of them the space they needed—Quatre was sucking at his fingers as he finished an orange, and Heero was piling the strips of chicken and beef he'd been cooking onto a large plate. Heero nudged Duo in the belly as he tried to steal one from the plate, frowning.

“Aw, Heero,” Duo complained. “Can't I pay a toll or something? Just one piece!” Duo was about to whine a little more—but then Heero leaned forward and pecked his lips, his mouth soft and slightly wet and tasting like a fresh orange—the one Quatre was finishing the last pieces of. Then he offered Duo a piece of beef with two fingers, amusement dancing in his eyes. Duo took it with his teeth, blinking, and mumbled a _thank you_ almost shyly. Heero had just kissed him. Him, Duo Maxwell, on the mouth. That was like having _sex._ Holy _fuck._ And the four of them exchanged this kind of affection regularly? He'd been missing the fuck out!

...He'd been missing out on so much, he thought as he looked at the way Quatre and Wufei set the table—the way Heero pushed Trowa's chair over, and ruffled his bangs. He watched how Heero grabbed Wufei by the bicep and hissed in Japanese into his ear, listening to Wufei hiss back in Mandarin, the two of them surely bickering over the state of Wufei's health. He almost felt like he should leave. That would be the perfect ending to the tragedy, wouldn't it? Boy goes to friends, friends no longer have need for boy, boy goes off into space to drift aimlessly forever...

“Duo,” Trowa said, and Duo looked up. Trowa was waving him over, a smile on his elegant mouth. “Come on, come eat.” His voice was so gentle. He'd always been so gentle, even in his ruthlessness. He offered Duo his hand and Duo went to him, sat beside him, looked around the table.

They were a mismatched set, Duo thought. And surely, they had days that were the polar opposite of this one. He could imagine the fights—especially between Quatre and Wufei or worse, Wufei and Heero. He imagined stony silences, verbal sniping and snarling. Fist fights, sparring matches turning violent. Imagined tigers on a mountain, trapped on that mountain by fences they couldn't ever hope to climb. He could just see the way Quatre would stand at a window, making sure to keep out of the line of sight as he waited for news on his friends. Heero's hard expression as he hard about what had happened to Trowa. Wufei's soul ripped between his duty to the Preventers and his desire to go to his friends. They were fiercely loyal, the five of them, despite everything. Even if only to one another.

Wufei's unexpectedly sensitive communication, _you will always have a place with us, Maxwell._ Quatre's hug, the warmth of Trowa's head against his belly. Heero, giving him a piece of meat after he'd paid the toll with a kiss. It felt natural. It felt... Right. Good, and safe, and all the things Duo hadn't really thought he was missing. Things he wasn't sure he could have.

But there those things were right in front of him, if he was willing to take the good with the bad and work it out. He was willing. Space would wait for him, always be only a shuttle ride away. The vacuum would greet him like an old friend when he needed her, and so would these men here on earth who had waited for him.

“Hey,” Duo murmured, turning to look at Quatre, just to his other side.

“Mm?”

“I hear you've got a spare room in Luxembourg.”

Quatre's eyes widened only a fraction, and Duo grinned.

“Hope you don't mind me staying for a while.”

“Of course not,” Quatre replied, smiling so brightly it almost hurt to look at. Duo's heart felt fit to burst. “Of course not.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> i can't promise i'll add anything to this because i'm a flake and the Worst Ever™ but i will try!!!!!


End file.
